


Don't Cry About It

by foulrescent



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Attempt at humour, Banter, Civil War, Some angst, puns, t'challa is so kind, what takes place after Siberia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:53:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foulrescent/pseuds/foulrescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>T’Challa looks down at him. “You're disarmed.”</p><p>Bucky manages a grin. “We can joke around with each other now, kitten?”</p><p>“You do know that I’m royalty,” T’Challa says, amused. </p><p>(What takes place after the fight in the Siberian compound is over)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Cry About It

**Author's Note:**

> I was going attempting to write a fix-it fic, but then this happened. It's short and a little fun, and is definitely light.  
> Stating the obvious: IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN 'CIVIL WAR' AND DON'T WANT TO GET SPOILED, DO NOT READ THIS.  
> \- Title from Lana Del Rey's 'This Is What Makes Us Girls'  
> \- Only 80% edited

Bucky doesn’t remember where he is until his boots crush into the snow. He had known what had happened, had known that the arm had been blown off by Steve’s friend and that he had – Bucky had killed Steve’s friends parents. In 1991 he had killed someone that had recognised him, someone that had gasped, “Sergeant Barnes," identifying him. He heard that name for weeks on end, had even whispered it himself every morning until one of the handlers heard and Karpov had read out those damn words for half a day. Bucky had been ready to comply, every time, yet those words were still clearly said, and they continued to strike his brain with an electrifying fury.

Bucky’s in Russian snow, with Steve holding him up, despite the fact that he’s dead weight now. He had tried to walk, back inside, but he couldn’t find equilibrium. “Stevie,” he had gurgled, face squished against Steve’s shoulder, “I’m really not worth all this. I’m fucking not.”

They’re silent now, trekking through the snow. There’s a strange, chilly sensation all against Bucky’s left. The arm had been radiating heat, working hard and shifting gears, now all there is only air. Bucky looks up at the sky, ignores the blood trickling down his lips, and admires the clouds that have diluted into a heavy coat of fog. The sky has disappeared.

“Panther?” Steve’s voice sounds, just as the parting itches the clouds apart. There’s a single beam of light. “What’re you doing here?”

“Making a decision with the clearest mind I’ve held since my father’s passing.”

Bucky slugs his head straight, ignores the strain down the side of his neck. T’Challa’s standing tall. Zemo’s kneeling into the snow, by T’Challa’s feet, with his hands buried into the ice. The Sokovian looks up with a blank expression, but his lips quirk a little in what can be deemed as satisfaction. Without a thought, the same emotion that Stark displayed consumes Bucky, and he attempts to run at full force to — do _whatever_. He wants to crack Zemo’s skull, for a split second, because of the pain he unleashed on Stark and Steve, for driving Bucky out of a home that he loves.

Instead of cracking all of Zemo’s teeth with his fist so the sharp, chipped edges puncture the inner linings of his throat when he undoubtedly swallows them, Bucky’s knees hit the snow when his body deems him unfit and unbalanced to walk. Steve guides him to the ground, gently. Steve’s arms wrap around his chest, attempting to keep him standing, but Bucky lets his weight fall.

“Steve,” Bucky gasps.

“We’ve had enough of that for today,” Steve says, voice tight, “You’re not supposed to do this anymore. I’m sorry.”

Bucky keeps his head down, because he doesn’t want to counter Zemo’s gaze on the missing part of his body. He also doesn’t want Zemo to see the potential flecks of green in his eyes. Zemo already knows enough flaws.

“Captain, do you have anything to apprehend this man?” T’Challa supposedly refers to Zemo.

“Inside the Jet. I’ll handle him, Your Highness.” Steve’s feet move away from Bucky’s view. The sounds of the ramp shutters down and Bucky feels a little jealous. It might not be Steve’s style, but after today, he’s probably going to throw in a few punches whilst locking up Zemo.

Bucky leans back, resting his butt onto the heels of his feet, but it’s a bother to hold his neck still. He lets himself lean back further and arranges himself so that he’s laying down in the snow. The cold feels nice against his ears. T’Challa steps forward, and Bucky remembers that T’Challa’s a threat, but he holds up his gloved palms and civilly sits into the snow, beside Bucky’s head.

T’Challa looks down at him. “You're disarmed.”

Bucky manages a grin. The metallic taste of blood tickles the tip of his tongue. “We can joke around with each other now, kitten?”

“You do know that I’m royalty,” T’Challa says, amused.

“And I’m mentally unstable. Haven’t you heard?”

“Not clinically,” T’Challa drawls in that accent of his, which sends a shiver down Bucky’s spine, “Your doctor was not qualified and if his facade still held, he never diagnosed you. Didn’t intend to either.”

“You’re a funny guy, kitten.”

T’Challa laughs, and then halts like he’s surprised at himself. He coughs, holds his head up high, and stares at the sky. Bucky does the same, after staring at the line of T’Challa’s jaw. Bucky keeps his eyes trained onto the white clouds as he feels T’Challa come to a standing position above him.

The ramp hitches with Steve’s heavy footsteps. “Your Highness, take the Jet. Zemo’s in the cell.”

“Where’s Stark?” T’Challa asks, voice clear as… snow. Bucky smiles.

“He’s alive,” Steve audibly gulps, “could you – I don’t think that I can - not right now. Could you get him? Take him to a hospital. The suit’s down, because I – he won’t want to see me and I don’t want to either, right now.”

Bucky lets out a flickering breath and inhales deeply through his nose, breathing more blood than the tight oxygen of this air. He rolls to his right side, ready to push himself up, but he struggles a little.

“Of course, Captain,” T’Challa obeys. Someone grabs Bucky’s holster across his back and it’s T’Challa, because when Steve was in close vicinity, he smelt of sweat and metal. T’Challa smells fresh. “In order to apologise to you, Barnes, I offer Wakanda as a place of refuge. Don’t give me that face, Barnes,” he warns, “Or I won’t offer more than that.”

“What else is on the menu?” Bucky teases, carefully stepping onto the crunching floor as T’Challa directs him towards Steve, whom is giving him a warning look that’s much more threatening than T’Challa’s cryptic speech. He’s also intrigued, because his backpack with the written coordinates for potential safe houses is now in the possession of the CIA. He doesn’t have anywhere to go. He doesn’t have anywhere to keep Steve safe from those with agendas.

“An arm,” T’Challa answers.

“I’ll make sure to pop in.”

Steve clears his throat, breath hot against Bucky’s ear as he speaks, “Thank you for the offer.”

“Take my jet, so I know that my apology will be accepted. It’s got a stealth mode that is beyond your technology, Captain. You won’t be seen by anyone but me. I expect it back without a scratch, Barnes.”

Bucky’s about to say, _hey!_ But then T’Challa stretches out his right gloved hand and Steve takes it, shakes it once whilst uttering thanks once again. T’Challa then stares at Bucky and raises his brows at his extended hand. Bucky shuffles from underneath Steve’s pit, Steve holds on tightly to Bucky’s waist, accidentally but perhaps purposefully brushing his lips against the side of Bucky’s face. Balanced, Bucky successfully shakes the King’s hand.

“Thanks for being not good enough to kill me,” Bucky cockily smirks.

T’Challa extracts his claws and the tips of the unfairly sharp vibranium dig into Bucky’s flesh.

On the jet, whilst Steve keeps his gaze ahead, over the dispersed clouds, Bucky looks out the window, back to the compound. It was his home for so long. He watches as T’Challa carries out a mess of red and gold.

**Author's Note:**

> THANKS FOR READING! X XXXX
> 
> PS: I really love T'Challa, man.


End file.
